Stardust
by mistykasumi
Summary: The things unsaid between Achilles and Patroclus.


For Cori Lannam, Yuletide 2006

**Stardust**

It's the tenth summer in Troy, and Achilles feels like he's been here for half his life. That is not true, but it is close enough to the truth. He's been here for so long that his son (and that is a strange word on his tongue) is probably already a fair warrior following in his footsteps. The son he never really knew, and Achilles does not regret that.

The days are idle now that he no longer fights. The idleness is an itch more than anything else, though, an itch under his skin he cannot scratch. Achilles longs to feel the solid curve of a spear in his hands, the blood rush he gets when he strikes another Trojan down, and he imagines this is what the men feel for their wives and families, what Odysseus feels for Penelope. But Achilles has no family to miss, not with his mother a goddess, his son only his by blood, and the only person who can ever make him weak by his side.

* * *

Patroclus does not fight because Achilles will not fight, but that does not mean he is willing to remain idle like Achilles. He tends to wounded Myrmidons during the day because he is good at it. He and Achilles are both botanists, but Achilles has always been and will always be a warrior more than anything else.

Achilles does not stop Patroclus because he cannot. He can tell Patroclus to stop fighting, and Patroclus will because Achilles is his leader, but Patroclus has always been kinder, and he would feel guilty if he were idle like Achilles.

Achilles watches him sometimes, when he sits outside his lodge, sharpening his weapons. He may not be fighting in the war, but that does not mean he has been completely idle. He is no Paris, nor does he want to be. Food still needs to be procured, and Achilles must stay the very best of the Achaeans.

Achilles watches Patroclus touch his men, and he thinks Patroclus is above this. He should not be this possessive. Achilles will not ask Patroclus to stop, however. He said no when Patroclus asked him to stop. Patroclus would not say yes anyway, and Achilles does not want to see Patroclus's mouth in a thin line, face drawn and eyes closed to him.

His gaze is never blatant, but Achilles still knows that Patroclus knows. Patroclus never mentions it, however. That has been the way between them for some time now. They both want to say things that they know the other does not want to hear, and it lies between them like the sea separating Greece and Troy. Achilles does not want Patroclus to touch anyone else when it is all he has.

* * *

Achilles is not afraid of the sea because that is his mother's territory, and she will not let him be hurt. The water is cleaner along this part of the coast, and Achilles swims here often, now. The water is cool against his skin, cool like his mother's skin, and it's as if she's engulfing him in her arms. Sometimes, he feels like a boy again, swimming during the lazy summer afternoons while Chiron napped, and if he looks behind him, Patroclus will be there. Except Patroclus never is, here.

It is near the end of the day when Patroclus comes. Achilles hears the low slip of a body sliding into the sea, and he does not need to see Patroclus to know it is him. Achilles surfaces when he is near the beach, and Patroclus follows a moment later, an arm-length away, a lifetime away. Patroclus is beautiful in the fading sunlight, trails of water highlighting his glorious form, shadows gliding on his bronze skin tinted red and gold, the curve of his body a dark line against the immortal colors on the horizon, and Achilles loves him more than he should. Patroclus's eyes are the same as they have been lately, dark and intense, but they are not accusing or angry, nor have they been.

Achilles leads the way onto the beach. He turns to Patroclus and does not ask anything, just sets his body and readies his arms. He looks at Patroclus without shame. Achilles has seen it all before, but he will never stop admiring Patroclus's body.

Patroclus does not reply, merely crouches as well and raises his arms. Achilles does not wait and rushes forward. The first contact he makes sends his blood racing the way it always does. Patroclus is not his equal in this, but he is who Achilles wants. Only actual battle makes him feel the same exhilarating rush.

They grapple and strike at each other, and Achilles has missed the feeling of Patroclus's body on his. It is like the childish fumbling they used to do at Chiron's. It meant something different then, and it means that same old thing now.

Achilles knocks Patroclus down eventually, but Patroclus pulls Achilles down with him, and they roll across the sand, hands moving all the while. Achilles finally pins Patroclus to the ground. He straddles Patroclus but does not sit on him, and his hands push Patroclus's arms into the sand. Achilles is not gentle. He can feel the sand sticking everywhere on his body, between his toes, on his back, in the crease of his thighs. Patroclus's body is warm beneath his. They are both hard.

"You are the reason I am here," Achilles says, and they both recognize it as a half-truth. Achilles would have come anyway, but if it were not for Patroclus's oath, he would have left already, when Briseis was first taken. Patroclus does not reply, even though he can say a number of things, if he wants. _You didn't have to come at all_, or _You don't have to stay with me_. But he does not want to fight with Achilles right now. Patroclus is tired of this, even though he has not shown it. He is human, and sometimes, he just wants Achilles.

"You win," Patroclus says, and they both know it is more than a gesture of submission. Patroclus gives it because he is tired, and Achilles accepts it because he wants it. He has wanted nothing else lately.

Achilles kisses Patroclus. It is more tender than Patroclus has expected, than Achilles usually is, but it is no less of anything else. Patroclus responds because he has wanted it as well. He is just better at pretending.

It is night when they head back to camp. They do not speak along the way, but they touch, sometimes, a brush of hands, fingers grazing across the curve of a wrist. Achilles does not play the lyre often, but he does this night.

They sit outside together. The night breeze is a cool caress against their skin. They do not touch except for their feet, a steady, subtle skin on skin. The notes are clear the way they have not been for some time, and Achilles feels the sweet trilling inside of him.

_This is what love tastes like_, he thinks.

* * *

When Antilochus comes, Achilles already knows. He knows because he would have done the same, because he and Patroclus are both proud men, but that does not make the news easier to hear. He had wanted, and even though he is the son of a goddess, it was not enough.

Achilles's mouth is bitter when Antilochus finishes, and he cannot feel anything, not the power underneath his skin or the hard wood under him. The harsh midday sun is bright and unyielding, and Achilles thinks, _No,_ this _is what love tastes like_.

06.12.1


End file.
